June Seventeenth, Nineteen Eighty One
by sashadavidovna
Summary: On War and Werewolves


**June Seventeenth, Nineteen Eighty-One**

There are no windows, but after almost ten years of living with Remus, Sirius knows as surely as he knows his own name that the moon has risen. He drums his fingers faster on the underside of the table and Alice, sitting across from him, frowns and shakes her head slightly in reproof.

When will Moody shut up? Fuck!

As soon as Moody does, Sirius is off like a shot, racing for his jacket (leather, dammit, and Alice can roll her eyes all she wants) and the reports he won't read tonight, but must take for the sake of appearances.

His hand is on the doorknob when the alarms go off.

Something inside him dies at the sound, and for the first time in his life, he wishes he wasn't already an atheist. It would be awfully nice right about now to tell God exactly where He could stick it. Instead, he drops the papers back on his desk and goes to Moody's side.

Death Eaters have attacked the Werewolf Registry and opened all the cages. He feels a surge of panic before he remembers that Remus is far away in Scotland, safe, with James and Peter to keep him company. He hopes. Moody claps him on the back with a sympathetic look and drops a handful of bullets into his hand. The silver is dark and tarnished, gleams dully in the light, heavy against his palm.

"Just in case," Moody says. Sirius swallows hard.

Sirius feels sick at the sight of the cages. For Remus, he knows, the Shack is a circle of hell, but at least it is an outer circle, compared to this. The cavernous room in the cellars of the Werewolf Registry is lined with tiny, iron-barred cages, barely big enough for a grown wolf to turn around. The floors are stained dark with the blood of thousands of moons and the smell lingers in the air, metallic and oddly sweet.

Moody is barking out orders and the Aurors divide up. For once, Sirius is relieved when Alice stays with Frank. He ducks down a dark hallway and transforms, sniffing the air for the hint of werewolf. He finds it almost immediately, a wild smell, like pine needles and forest soil and the sharp cold wind that blows into Hogwarts from the north in wintertime, but alien, too, despite its long familiarity. There is blood in the scent of them, blood and hunger and the lingering whiff of fear, but there is a darker undercurrent too, one he has all but forgotten after years of running with Moony, keeping him sane. It can only be hate.

He transforms again, yanking his clothes back on, and runs in the direction the smell was strongest. The heavy metal door at the end of the hall has been opened, too, and he curses and plunges up the stairs behind it, hollering for reinforcement. There is another hallway at the top, sterile and bureaucratic this time, and in the dim light from a window near the end he sees bloody pawprints disappearing around a corner. He takes off down the hall, skidding around the bend, and almost smashes into James.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he says. "It's your night off."

"They've called us all in," James says, a little wildly. "The Order, too, I think. Fuck, I thought you would be with him."

"Is Peter here too?"

"I haven't seen him. Hopefully he was already at the Shack when they sent out the call."

"He's too small anyway. He can't do it by himself. Fuck!" Sirius smashes his fist against the wall.

"Breaking your hand won't help anything," James snaps. He runs a hand across his face, looking tired. "Sorry, mate. Remus will just have to do it alone. It's not like it's anything new for him. He'll live."

"Fuck!" Sirius says again, but quieter this time. James is right. He swallows, pushing memories of blood-soaked bandages and jagged scars from his mind. "Right," he says. "Let's go."

As they reach the end of the hall, there is a snarl, and a flash of gray fur and shining white teeth hurtles into sight from an open office doorway in front of them. Sirius ducks and rolls, James's shout ringing in his ears. He comes up with his wand out in approved Auror attack position, and then remembers that wands are useless against the beast crouching on the floor across from them. James is too close to it and knows it. He fumbles the gun with shaking hands and bullets clatter to the floor and roll away as he curses frantically. The beast growls deep in its throat and leaps for him, just as Sirius grabs his own, loaded gun and fires.

The bullet hits the beast in mid-air. James stumbles back, wide-eyed, as it gives a noise that is half-howl, half-shriek and drops to the ground. Blood is staining the silvery fur where the bullet hit, spreading rapidly, but then the body convulses with something beyond pain and the great jaws snap and foam helplessly, spraying spittle and blood. They watch as the hairy legs lengthen, the snout shortens and disappears, and then it is a young woman lying dead on the floor, her body twisted up in fetal position, her head thrown back in agony, blond hair soaked with blood.

Sirius drops the gun with a clatter, staring in horror at the body on the floor. For an instant, it is not the girl but Remus lying there in a pool of blood, and then he doubles over as his stomach tries to come out his mouth and the world grows small and dark around him.

"You called in every Auror in London _and_ the Order for _three_ werewolves?" James repeats incredulously.

"We had no idea how far they'd gone," the Minister says, helplessly. "They could have escaped the building within minutes. The one Dawlish killed had," he adds pointedly. "They could have been anywhere."

Frank Longbottom frowns. "Where were the rest? There are enough cages in that building for a hundred."

The Minister sighs. "The thing is, we don't know. There are usually about 40 on any given moon, but the number has been dropping steadily for the last few months. Most of them have joined with You-Know-Who and disappeared. He must have given them some sort of concealment charm, because the Registry tattoos have stopped working. We can't track them down. Another bunch defected earlier this month. These three were the only ones who didn't."

"And now they're all dead," James says, in an odd, flat voice, staring at the three white-shrouded bodies laid out on the floor beside them.

"They're werewolves," the Minister shrugs.

Moody catches Sirius's face darkening ominously, and shrugs. "Never let it be said that Voldemort isn't thorough," he booms, and the Minister winces at the name. "He wants all the Dark Creatures on his side and if they won't come…Well, now they know what will happen to them."

Sirius cannot see Moody's magical eye, but he shivers suddenly with the unmistakable sensation of being watched, knows with terrible dull certainty that the words are not meant for the Minister at all. Moody turns to back to his squad. "Come on, men. And women," he adds hastily, as Alice opens her mouth to protest. "It's been a long night. Dawlish, I think you can dismiss your men as well."

"Yes, sir," Dawlish says, nodding to them.

The group splits up in their separate directions but Sirius and James linger, staring at each other.

"We should go," James says, after a moment.

"It's almost dawn," Sirius points out. "You should go home. Lily will be worried sick. I'll go."

"What if…" James says.

"We would have heard," Sirius says. "Dumbledore would have checked."

"You're right," James says. He looks down. "Is it really all right if I don't come?"

Sirius shoves him. "Go home to the little lady, _Mr_. Potter."

James grins. "Lily's gonna kill you when I tell her you called her that!"

"That's why you're not going to tell her, right?" Sirius says, smiling. "Go on then, you berk."

"Yeah," James says. He pulls out his wand and then pauses. "Do be careful, mate. You look dead tired. They say getting Splinched is no fun at all."

"I'll be fine," Sirius says, with more confidence than he really feels.

James nods and disappears with a sharp POP. A moment later, Sirius follows.

He reappears next to the Shack and runs up the stairs two at a time, just as the first rays of dawn break over the Eastern horizon. Inside, he transforms, just in case, and bounds up to the landing. He pushes the door at the top open with his nose and stops dead at the sight within, losing his dog form with the shock. It is a scene from a nightmare, and Remus lies in the middle of the wreckage in a pool of his own blood.

Sirius's stomach lurches again, ominously, remembering the girl lying just so, the sound of the gun, the flash of shining teeth, snapping jaws, the scent of hatred. It could have been Moony, so easily, and what would he have done? What could he have done? He shudders, leaning against the doorjamb for support, and retreats to the simpler thoughts and emotions of the dog.

As always, a cold, wet nose being shoved into his face has a remarkable restorative effect and Remus opens his eyes, sputtering weakly. He smiles at the sight of the big black dog, then frowns, taking in the damage, remembering.

"Where were you?" he asks.

Sirius transforms with a sigh and settles himself next to Remus on the floor. "Nowhere," he says. "Just work."


End file.
